╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑆𝐼𝑋] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗. [ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ˊˎ
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The Burrow
Village of Ottery St Catchpole
- Devon, England
( July, 1995. )

                        𝑻he silver moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of ancient trees, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint, earthy aroma of damp moss and pine. Overhead, the stars glimmered in an endless expanse of midnight blue, their brilliance undimmed by the forest's leafy veil. Somewhere in the distance, a lone owl hooted, its call echoing softly against the gentle murmur of the nearby creek.

The group had gathered by the water's edge, their small patch of velvety grass bathed in the moon's ethereal glow. The creek's ripples glittered like shards of liquid silver, flowing lazily under the starlit sky. Every so often, a leaf would detach from the trees above and drift lazily to the ground, adding a quiet rhythm to the symphony of nature surrounding them.

Fred Weasley, the perennial showman, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. He held up a bottle of Firewhisky, its amber liquid catching the faint light, and uncorked it with an exaggerated flourish. The sharp pop echoed across the clearing, startling a few resting birds into flight. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice as theatrical as ever, "I present to you: the nectar of champions."

Olympia, seated cross-legged with her back slightly against a fallen log, raised an eyebrow at his antics but couldn't suppress a smile. She took the bottle when he offered it to her, their fingers brushing for the briefest moment. She tilted it back, taking a measured sip. The Firewhisky was molten fire against her throat, burning in the most satisfying way, and the warmth that followed was oddly soothing. With a small, contented sigh, she passed the bottle to her sister, Cassie.

Cassie accepted the bottle with mock reverence, cradling it dramatically in both hands as though it were a priceless artifact. "And here I thought we were just going on a nice, peaceful stroll," she teased, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. She took a hearty sip, coughing a little as the whisky worked its way down, then grinned as she held it out to George. "This is officially the most chaotic night I've had in years."

George, stretched out on the grass with his hands folded behind his head, chuckled without looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the heavens above, where countless stars blanketed the sky. "You're welcome," he said lightly, his voice rich with humor. "Chaos is kind of our brand."

Olympia smirked, leaning forward slightly as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Clearly," she replied dryly, though the curve of her lips gave her amusement away.

Fred, not one to be outdone, sprang to his feet with the Firewhisky in hand and struck a dramatic pose. The bottle glinted in the moonlight as he raised it high. "To chaos," he declared grandly, "to giant bloody chickens, and to not getting caught!"

The group erupted into laughter, their voices blending seamlessly with the sounds of the forest. They clinked imaginary glasses with exaggerated gestures, their smiles bright in the moonlight. Fred took a long, exaggerated swig before tossing the bottle to George, who caught it effortlessly. The twins exchanged a glance—one of their many silent, wordless conversations that seemed to speak volumes.

Cassie shook her head, her laughter fading into a fond smile as she watched them. "You two really are mad."

"And proud of it," Fred replied, flopping back down onto the grass with a satisfied sigh. The bottle made its way around again, the warmth of the Firewhisky mirrored by the unspoken camaraderie that filled the clearing.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The chaos and noise of the outside world melted away, leaving only the quiet crackle of their friendship and the gentle rhythm of the forest around them. It was the kind of night they'd remember forever—one of reckless joy, and the kind of laughter that lingered even as the years wore on.

Fred's eyes twinkled mischievously as he took another swig from the bottle, his laughter echoing in the night air. Meanwhile, George, still lying back with his arms folded behind his head, glanced over at Olympia with a lazy smile. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then extended his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, as though to say, Come on, join me.

Olympia, still sitting cross-legged by the creek, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smile. She glanced at George, then at the others, and with a soft sigh, she stood up, brushing the grass off her legs. She approached him with the bottle in her hand and sat down next to him, settling herself comfortably against his side.

George grinned, his arm naturally draping over her shoulders as she leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his chest. The warmth from his body, combined with the lingering heat of the Firewhisky, made Olympia feel as though the world outside their little circle had melted away. The moonlight bathed them both in silver, their quiet presence in the wilderness somehow feeling both surreal and right.

"Better?" George teased softly, his voice a low murmur as he adjusted so he could look at her properly.

Olympia gave him a small, contented smile, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on his sleeve. "Much," she replied, her voice steady but warm. The sound of the creek flowing nearby, the night air crisp and comforting, and the peaceful silence between them made the moment feel timeless.

They sat in comfortable quiet, their backs leaning against the soft grass, listening to the forest around them, each of them feeling a little more at peace with the world than they had before. The chaos and noise of their lives could wait—tonight, it was just them, the stars above, and the sense of belonging they had found in each other.

Fred's usually boisterous energy began to dissipate as the night wore on. His laughter slowed, his words slurred more with each sip of Firewhisky he took. The carefree spark that typically danced in his eyes dulled, replaced by a distant, almost melancholy look. It was as though the weight of the world had suddenly settled on his shoulders, and he couldn't quite shrug it off. The easygoing Fred was slipping away, leaving something quieter, and heavier behind.

George, ever attuned to his twin, watched with a furrowed brow. As Fred took another drink, his eyes unfocused, George's back straightened, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "Oi, you alright?"

Fred didn't answer immediately, his gaze locked on the rippling creek as if the water might hold the answers he was searching for. After a long, almost painful pause, he spoke in a quiet, thickened voice. "Just thinking about how Mum is convinced we're screw-ups."

George inhaled sharply, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His own tipsiness suddenly felt miles away as he processed Fred's confession. It was rare for Fred to let himself be vulnerable like this, and it struck a chord deep within George.

Olympia and Cassie exchanged a quick, concerned glance. Olympia, ever the peacemaker, leaned forward, her voice soft and measured. "She doesn't think that," she said gently. "She just... worries about you two."

Fred scoffed, his face contorting with frustration as the words tumbled out. "Sure, worries. That's why she never misses a chance to remind us how 'stupid' our joke shop idea is. How it's not a 'real career.' Like we're wasting our time."

George's heart tightened at Fred's words. He knew how much their mum's opinion meant to Fred, to both of them. And how much it hurt to feel like their dreams weren't being taken seriously. He took a deep breath, then sighed, reaching for the bottle to take another long sip before passing it back to Fred.

"She doesn't see it the way we do," George said, his voice quieter now, as though choosing his words carefully. "To her, it's just pranks and silliness. But we've poured everything into this—time, money, everything."

Fred nodded slowly, his grip on the bottle tightening as if it were his only anchor in that moment. "It's more than jokes. It's who we are. Creativity, freedom, proving we're capable of something great. But all she sees are the troublemakers we've always been." His voice trailed off, a mix of longing and frustration hanging in the air.

Olympia, who had been watching him intently, leaned forward, her expression resolute. "You're so much more than that. Both of you," she said, her voice steady with conviction.

George glanced at her, offering a faint, appreciative smile, though a flicker of doubt clouded his gaze. "Maybe," he murmured. "But sometimes it feels like no one else sees it."

Cassie shifted closer to them, her voice firm, filled with a quiet confidence. "That's not true. We see it. And your joke shop idea? It's brilliant. The wizarding world needs it—fun, laughter, and a little light in all this darkness." Her words were warm and encouraging, a lifeline Fred hadn't expected but sorely needed.

Fred looked at her, and for the first time that night, a genuine, softer smile replaced the bitterness that had clouded his face. "Thanks, Cass. That means more than you know," he said, his voice almost quiet in its sincerity.

The group fell into a brief silence, the sounds of the creek the only noise in the still night air. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind of silence that came with understanding, with shared moments of vulnerability. George broke it first with a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh.

"For all the grief she gives us," George said softly, "we still just... want her to be proud."

Fred's gaze remained fixed on the water, and his voice dropped even lower. "We want her to look at us and think, 'Those are my sons.' But every time we try, it feels like we're just disappointing her more."

Olympia shifted closer, her tone unwavering, her conviction like a gentle force. "You'll make her proud. When you open that shop, when people see how amazing it is... she'll realize how brilliant you are."

Fred's eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment, the usual bravado he hid behind was gone. His voice softened, laced with something raw and vulnerable. "You really believe that?"

Olympia didn't hesitate. "I don't just believe it," she said firmly, her eyes meeting his. "I know it."

For a moment, the tension that had gripped Fred loosened just a little. The weight of expectations and self-doubt felt a little lighter, carried away by the bond they shared. They passed the bottle around a few more times, but the conversation was different now. It was quieter, softer, and somehow more real. The chaos of earlier, the tension between them, had faded, replaced by a quiet assurance that they weren't alone in their struggles—that they were in this together.